


Crazy Game

by Cluegirl



Series: HP Drabbles [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cluegirl/pseuds/Cluegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles featuring Harry Potter and Sirius Black</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Kiss is Traditional

"A kiss is traditional."

Harry looked up, all blush and unfocused green eyes over the edge of his champagne flute. "It is?" he managed to ask without sputtering.

Sirius nodded with solemn certainty.

"Who's tradition?" Harry -- or perhaps Harry's first real introduction to champagne -- queried, "What's it mean? The kiss. What's it for?"

"For luck," Sirius replied, very carefully setting his drink in the air beside the table.

"I thought the black-eyed peas were for luck." Harry complained, making a face at the memory of the dish Sirius had insisted on making them eat earlier.

"Well, this is even luckier," Sirius insisted, slinking across the floor like a somewhat wobbly jungle panther -- in fact, rather like a jungle panther which, if it had to walk on two legs instead of four, wouldn't have made it across the room at all. He slithered into Harry's lap -- a gravity-aided manouvre which would have been the envy of any Slytherin, and which made Harry gurgle a startled, urgent noise in his throat.

And then, because gravity was still with him, he let the irresistable force draw his lips to Harry's startled-open, wine-slicked mouth.

Harry made another of those thwarted noises, and groped both hands up around Sirius' back in a rather desperate, and sticky clutch. Sirius gave a shiver as Harry's champagne spilled down his spine, but otherwise paid it no mind. He'd half an inkling it'd be licked clean by morning anyway.

Right now, his besieged attention was clinging to the texture and taste of the needy young thing writhing under him, to the urgent stroke of tongue against tongue, to the accidental click of teeth, to the snag and snare of breath and groan, to the grope and grip of hands in jumper, and the rutching up of shirt over satin-smooth, heated skin.

And when hypoxia drove the New Year's kiss to a close, Sirius dragged his mouth away to gasp deep, whirling lungfuls of the new year. He felt, more than heard Harry's dry laugh beneath his chest, and lifted himself out of the boneless slouch (with incidental toungue exploration of Harry's left ear) to glare blurrily.

"See what you mean by 'luck'," Harry grinned, grabbing Sirius' hips and sliding him closer into his straining lap, "Things are looking 'up' already!"


	2. First Of All

"You're taking this rather well, Harry."

He shrugs, hands jammed deep into his pockets, toe digging spirals into the rug. "Yeah, well. Not like I haven't thought about it."

Sirius laughs. No mudblood hang-ups to work through here -- his godson has a wizard's taste for adventure already. "Right then, right. So it's important, you understand -- The first time with a wizard? It has to be with someone trustworthy. Someone who knows what he's doing, who won't hurt you, or use your power against you."

Ah, there was the blush. So not quite so bold as he pretended. Sirius didn't jibe him, though he was sorely tempted.

"And for you, I won't settle for anything less than an earth-moving experience," he grinned as Harry glanced shyly up through his eyelashes and blushed harder. "So I thought Remus would be the perfect-"

"Remus?!" The shy look was gone, replaced by shocked horror. "No! He can't!"

"Oh, I promise you, he can, Harry," Sirius replied, confused, "and he'd do an incredible job of it too. But if you want someone else, I suppose... let's see... Arthur wouldn't be a bad choice?"

Harry's horrified look deepened.

Sirius tried again. "Well... What about Shacklebolt then? He's rather fit. Can't say I haven't thought of going there myself in... no? Well then... er... Not Moody, surely?"

"No! EW!"

"Well Harry, it has to be someone we know!" Sirius stopped, his annoyance freezing as an awful thought occurred to him. "You don't want...! NOT SNAPE, DO YOU HEAR ME?"

That was when Harry hit him. Not with hand or with fist, but with the whole of his lithe, strong seeker's body. With the awkward press of his sugarquill-sticky lips, sliding and gripping against his own, thrusting a tongue inbetween the ragged edges of his gasp. With all of himself, Harry hit him -- hit, and clung, and kissed as though he would never stop kissing. Kissed until Sirius had no choice but to grasp him close and grind into his wiry heat.

And shocked to panting when finally the kiss scattered apart, Sirius found himself shaking and aching and hard against the boy, his godson, his protectorate -- grinding Harry (his Harry) into the wall. And Harry (his own Harry) giving back as good as he got, whimpering with savage thrusts that made clothes mean nothing.

"You, Sirius," Harry breathed against his neck, "You!"

"Yes!" was all Sirius could reply.


	3. "The flavor of morning"

Milky tea, so sweet it makes his teeth ache, so strong that just a trace on the thrust and twine of a tongue is enough to make his own shiver.  
*Deeper.*  
Bacon; salty, like after-quidditch skin, borne on the exhalation of a moan, like the first breath after standing up, hand to mouth, still swallowing as he trembles and gasps against the bathroom wall. Warm, silky curl -- the ghost of over-easy's as the angle of head shifts, and the countertop digs into his back. There are toast crumbs at the corner of his mouth, sharp and crisp against his grinding lip.   
Hands clutch and pull, grapple and cling. Oven timer whines. Scones begin to burn. Lost and devoured, he almost stops to wonder.  
*How long have we been starving?*


	4. Orient Express.

Part of him wanted to laugh. Watching Harry practically glued to the window as the ever-changing landscape rolled by, one would think he was a school boy on his first train ride, not a full fledged auror on his first assignment. 

It was something in the way his eyes glittered as they rolled through Vienna, perhaps. Or the shine to his lips as he debated defense techniques with the Qballist in the observation car. Or perhaps it was the glimpse of Harry's white skin as he washed up in the tiny bathroom. The musky, haunting young-man smell of him as he pressed by in the narrow walkway, or the maddening roll of the sleeping car, rocking them into one another in a steady rhythm. Guaranteeing Sirius would stay hard and wakeful all night long.

Sirius watched Harry sleep through Prague and wondered desperately if he'd make it to Istanbul sane.


	5. Blind Man's Bluff

'The trick is not to _try_ and see,' Sirius had said, tying the blindfold tightly across Harry's eyes, which was rather redundant with his glasses in his pocket, 'you surrender your sight, and the other senses step in for you.'

Harry hadn't been sure, he remembers afterward with sick shame. Dudley's idea of fun often involved Harry not seeing what was coming, and his stomach made knots of protest as his Godfather's soft footfalls faded. 

*I didn't trust you.* He thinks, squeezing his eyes shut, glasses clenched in his hand, listening to the empty room. *Why didn't I trust you?* 

'Trust me, Harry,' Sirius had said, rustling away into the sightless room, 'trust yourself, Harry. You'll hear me coming long before I touch you.'

And standing chilled and weeping in the echoing house, that is exactly what Harry hopes for.


End file.
